But Fate Intervened
by EnglishBrat
Summary: *CHAPTER 4 UP* Rated PG13 for general content and themes. An enticing, forbidden romance between the Prince of Mirkwood and a mysterious elf. Lies, passion, and pain. R/R
1. Run Away

A/N: yes, it's one of those awesome legolas fics where he…um….falls in love and stuff :) I can't help it, I've fallen in love with these after reading progidalwriter's "Choices in Love." Anyway, this first chapter occurs when Legolas is really really young (we're talking like less than one year old…human-wise. I guess that'd be like a hundred years in the way of elves…. ^_^) Just….to clarify that.

***

Sarryia's eyes fluttered open as the sunlight hit them. She groaned and shut them tightly again. It was way too early. She let her mind drift to places she wanted to go to – places she would never reach. Other elven places like Lorien and Rivendell. But she was stuck here. Here, in boring Mirkwood. A soothing voice broke through her thoughts and brought her back to the present.

"Sarr, dear, it's time to wake up. Come on, you've got to eat."

Sarryia sighed loudly and rolled out of bed and landed at the feet of Mrs. Ethreniel Greenleaf. The latter laughed out loud and strode out the door to let Sarryia get dressed.  A few minutes later, Sarryia swept down the stairs carrying her laundry, a smile on her face.  

"It's going to be a lovely day, Ernethiel, so I'm going to wash these and hang them up, is that all right with you?"

Ernethiel gave an absent wave of her hand, not looking up from the manuscript she was reading.

"Of course it is, dear. And while you're at it, could you do something about that horrible pile of – "she grinned " – well, you know what I'm talking about."

Sarryia smiled and picked up the pile of cloth diapers by a cradle near the edge of the room.  Grinning, she tickled the baby inside while making cooing noises. The baby gurgled appreciatively and wriggled in his cradle. Laughing softly, Sarryia stepped out the door.

It was, as Sarryia had predicted, a gorgeous day. The sun shone in shafts through the treetops, and the very air was heavy with a musty smell – magical, Sarryia thought. Birds chirruped everywhere around her, and bees buzzed about brightly colored flowers lazily.  

 It was days like this that Sarryia felt happy to be alive. As she hung she wet laundry up on a taut string between two trees, she thought of how her life came to be this way.

It had all happened very long ago. So long, in fact, that she had had to ask Ernethiel about her past in order to understand it. She had been an orphan. Ethreniel had found her on the side of a beaten path, wailing her heart out when she had been a very small child. Pity had moved the older elf's heart, and Ethreniel decided to take in the lost child.

Thranduil, however, was another matter altogether. He was a good man, just and fair, and King of Mirkwood, but with a fiery temper that he kept on short rein. It took Ethreniel hours of pleading and much throwing of things to get him to let her keep the child. Sarryia often felt that Thranduil hated her. It was silly, of course – he merely disliked her, but not to the point of hate – but she felt a prickling in the back of her neck every time he would talk to her. He often treated her like an inferior, someone not worth his time. Ethreniel always assured her it was nothing more than a feeling, however, so Sarryia seldom dwelt on the topic.

She wiped off her hands on the smock she wore over her elven dress and made her way inside, having washed the clothes. 

"Ethreniel, I was thinking, those rose bushes, they could really – "

Sarryia stopped in mid-sentence. A sixth sense told her something was wrong. 

"Ethreniel?"

She made her way cautiously into the kitchen and peered around. Nothing. She walked uneasily over to the chair where Ethreniel had been sitting. Strewn over the table were charts, maps, sketches, and paragraphs of things she couldn't understand, all written in a spidery writing on yellow parchment paper. Sarryia shuffled though them nervously, not sure what she was looking for. Her hands moved faster and faster, and her breathing came heavily. She had no idea what was going on, only that something important was about to happen and she was the key to it. She was flipping through another paper when her hand stopped dead. She had found what she'd been looking for.

Blood.

Panicked, she shouted out Ethreniel's name. Once, twice, three times. On the third time, she heard a hoarse whisper from the next room. Rushing over, she was shocked to find Ethreniel lying down, on the ground of the sitting-room, with a huge gash across her head. A puddle of blood had formed around her head, and it was obvious she wouldn't last much longer. Sarryia remembered bitterly that the sitting-room had always been Ethreniel's favorite. It was always bathed in sunlight, and had many plants everywhere. There was a lovely soft white carpet in the center. A white carpet that was now stained with a crimson patch. Ethreniel smiled faintly.

"Knew…it would happen. You must listen, child…" he eyes riveted themselves on Sarryia's, the only part of her that was still burning with life. "You are not….like – others. One day…you will know. A…a hundred years, maybe. Take the papers…" She coughed, and blood dribbled out of her mouth to join what was already on the floor. "Planning…for some time, now. Never lose….faith. Do not…do not forget who you are."

With a gasp and one last, shuddering breath, her eyes rolled backwards into her head and her body went limp. Sarryia knelt down, tears spilling down her cheeks. She cradled her makeshift mother's sagging form softly in her arms and kissed her forehead. 

"I won't forget you, Ethreniel. I won't forget who you were, or what you did for me. I – I will try to do as you have told me."

She stood up and wiped her eyes roughly. She felt it was most important to take care of those papers for now. Hurriedly, she gathered them together and put them into her apron pocket. She noticed something interesting on the last one. Pulling it back out, she examined it. It was a lovely drawing of a necklace. It was a simple circle, but the drawing seemed to show that there was something more within it. Peering closer, she saw something written beside the sketch.

"Sarryia."

Sarryia carefully put the paper back into her pocket and reentered the room containing Ethreniel's body. Carefully, she felt around the elf's neck for the pendant. Sure enough, a tiny, barely noticeable silver chain presented itself to her hands. She pulled it off gently and placed it around her own neck. Immediately, she knew there was more to this necklace than met the eye. She could feel a sense of warmth and security radiating from it, the same sense that had come from Ethreniel not so long ago.

Sarryia took a deep breath and tried to still the thousands of questions swirling in her mind. One could not be silence, however, and that was "Why?" Why had this happened? Why did she matter? Why had she been forced to lose the one person she had ever looked upon as a mother? Why –

She stopped in mid-thought at the creaking of a door. Thranduil. Her heart was gripped with an icy fear. He would not understand. He needed only this excuse to be rid of her. She needed to leave. Standing up quickly, she prepared to rush for the door. But the feel of those cold eyes on her back stopped her.

Thranduil's footsteps echoed a thousand times over in her mind. They were heavy, purposeful. Foreboding.  She heard a ruffle of clothes. He must be leaning over her now. Sarryia squeezed her eyes hut. Why couldn't she just run away? It was as though some force more powerful than anything she ever could have imagined was holding her in place. She turned around slowly, willing herself to face this man she was so frightened of.

Thranduil had his head bent over his wife. His eyes were dry, and his mouth was set in a hard, straight line. Finally, after a minute of unbearable tension, he lifted his head and locked eyes with Sarryia. So strong was the hatred in those, the fury and anger and indescribable loathing, that Sarryia fought to keep his gaze. More tears ran down her face. He decided it was time to say something.

"Sir, I – What I mean is, it wasn't – "

"Murderer."

"I swear, it wasn't me! I came in, and – and – "

"MURDERER!" he roared. "You – you filthy piece of scum! I should have known it from the start. You can never trust someone who is not one of your own. I feed you, shelter you, clothe you, and how do you repay me?" by now Thranduil was shaking with rage, and his hand strayed towards the bow at his back. "By death! You probably enjoyed it, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"

"Sir, I swear, it was – "

"I WILL HEAR NONE OF IT! You are a dirty, two-faced liar and a cheat! You are not worthy for this earth."

Now Thranduil's face was bent upon hers. His eyes were cold and hard, and every fiber of his being was clenched in hate. Sarryia sobbed, trying desperately to defend herself.

"Sir, I am telling the truth! I – "

"Run."

Thranduil's voice was low and dangerous. He spoke so softly that Sarryia could barely hear him. But she knew that whispers, with this man, were much more dangerous than shouts. Thranduil breathed deeply through clenched teeth.

"Run, you filthy, filthy piece of scum. I am sparing you, which is more than can be said for my wife. Run, Sarryia. And if you ever come back, if I ever need to set my eyes upon your stupid, ugly face, if you ever turn back from whatever direction you are running…I'll kill you."

Sarryia knew there was nothing she could do. Suppressing the sob that rose up in her throat, she turned and ran out the door, gathering her dress in front of her. She was about to reach the edge of the woods when a voice stopped her.

"Sarryia!" Thranduil called.

Automatically, Sarryia stopped in mid stride and turned around. Standing on the doorway in front of her once-called home was Thranduil, a cold smile on his face and a loaded bow in his hand. A bow with an arrow that was aimed straight at her heart.

"I thought I told you not to turn back," he said quietly.

Sarryia had only time to open her eyes in horror before the arrow sliced the air with a telltale whoosh. With a shout, she threw herself to the side. She was a fraction too  late, however. The arrow sliced her side right beneath her ribcage, causing an agonizing pain to spread through her body. Thranduil laughed mirthlessly, his eyes glazed over in hate. He had obviously lost all reason at that moment, with the death of his wife. 

"So, scum, how do you like the pain? I think I shall leave it so, yes?" he laughed again, a sort of mad glint in his eye. "Yes, it will do nicely. You'll have just enough time to think about what you've done before the fiery gates of hell greet you."

He turned and stepped back into the house, slamming the door behind him. Sarryia could not stop the hot tears flowing down her cheeks. The initial searing pain of the cut had subsided to a dull, aching throb. Painfully, she stood up, keeping a blood-drenched hand to her side. She needed to get away. Ripping off the bottom of her dress, she tied it around her side to keep the blood from flowing. She stumbled into the forest, her chest heaving with ragged breath and sobs rising up before she could stop them.

A few minutes later, the only sign that a being had ever been there was the thin trail of blood on the forest floor.

***

A/N: r/r please! Constructive criticism is welcome!


	2. Meetings

A/N: Ok, just to clear things up a bit…Thranduil is NOT a psychopathic killer or anything…he just had a short temper and kind of went temporarily insane when he saw his wife was dead. Hey, you would too! It's traumatizing, I'm sure! So…don't get any wrong ideas. Also, if there are technicalities about the book that are not correct, please, please, PLEASE bear with me, as I'm only thirteen and have only read the books once. However, I would like to be corrected for…future reference :) Anyway, enough of my mindless rants. On with the story! *trumpets blare*  
  
***  
  
---After the War of the Ring---  
  
Legolas breathed in the sweet, musky scent of the forest and urged his white stallion forward. At last, he felt he had come home. However lovely the forests he had seen on his quest for the ring, none could mean more to him than his beloved Mirkwood.  
  
He had been walking on a path that could easily be overlooked by eyes not as keen as elven ones, cleverly hidden in the underbrush, along with a company of five other elves. He dropped back to join one of them and smiled eagerly at the prospect of coming home.  
  
"Well, Sihrniel, it seems we have finally come home. How does it feel to you?"  
  
The dark-haired elf nodded respectfully and answered.  
  
"It feels wonderful, my lord. I am anxious to see my loved ones once more."  
  
Legolas pushed him playfully on his horse.  
  
"Lighten up, Sirhr! Since when did you start calling me "my lord"? Honestly! Where did all those years of friendship go?"  
  
Sihrniel blushed and heeled his horse forward a bit.  
  
"I thought it was appropriate, seeing as how you're going to be king soon…but I suppose you're right. You'll always be nothing more than Legolas to me...the one I could never beat with a bow, no matter how hard I try."  
  
Legolas laughed out loud and set his horse to a trot. The others sped their steeds up also, trying to catch up with the eager prince. One was quicker than the rest. Jisela was a fair-haired, dark eyed maiden with pale skin and sharp, chiseled features. Her haughty air hinted at her personality: straight and to the point, and a skilled warrior. She brought her horse to an easy canter alongside Legolas'.  
  
"Legolas, I have the feeling we are being watched."  
  
"Watched? Nonsense! By whom? I am really not that interesting of a person, despite what everyone seems to believe."  
  
Jisela cocked and eyebrow at him and glanced around.  
  
"Perhaps. But my ears have never deceived me before, and I do not believe this to be a first. It would be wise to investigate, my lord. It is not without purpose that one remains hidden."  
  
Reluctantly, Legolas slowed his horse to a walk and held up his hand for the others to be silent. For a minute no one moved a muscle, and every sharp eye roved the wilderness about them. Then Legolas heard it. A sort of scuffling sound of a body clambering through bushes – a sound no animal would make. Holding a finger to his lips, he carefully climbed down from his mount and drew his bow. Notching an arrow, he padded silently to the area the noise was coming from. The company held its breath as he gently tugged the shrubs aside.  
  
Lying on the ground was the strangest sight Legolas had ever seen. It was a woman – an elven one, at that – and her eyes were wide with fear. Her face and arms were covered in dirt, and her garment ripped and frayed in several places. It looked like a piece on the side had been cut out and sowed over with a piece ripped off from another part of the dress. Her face had numerous scratches on them, as though she had been crawling through brambles. Which, Legolas realized, she probably had. The woman scrabbled backwards on all fours with a frightened look. Legolas let his bowstring slack. It was obvious this creature was harmless. A little wild, maybe, but harmless. He was also intrigue by her apparent lack of civility. Leaning over, her tried to speak to her in a soothing voice.  
  
"Don't be afraid. My name is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, and I will not harm you. Neither will my companions. Can you speak?"  
  
"Of course I can speak, you numbskull," the creature muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said. "I know who you are. I am glad you will not harm me, but I think that neither will you let me go on my way. Am I correct?"  
  
Legolas was stricken by the boldness of this individual. Most commoners lost their tongues when he mentioned his status, but this one seemed quite at ease with it. He chuckled softly and held out his hand for her.  
  
"No, I'm afraid you are right on that point. I'd like to take you to the palace and learn more about you. There is a banquet tonight."  
  
At the mention of food, the girl absently licked her lips. But her face was pale and she was obviously battling with her thoughts. Finally, she sighed.  
  
"Very well. I will come with you to…the palace. However, I do not wish to attend the feast, if that is all right with you." Legolas nodded his approval, but she did not take his hand just yet. "And…I would like to keep my face covered. It would not do to show off bruises such as these to the elven population."  
  
Legolas was a bit baffled by this demand – surely it did not matter that much? – but decided it was her choice, after all. He smiled and nodded, and she took his hand.  
  
"It shall be as you say, fair maiden," he said formally.  
  
At this remark, the girl coughed in her hand to cover an obvious laugh. Legolas flushed from ear to ear and ducked his head as he lifted her onto his horse. He threw his leg over and settled himself in front of her.  
  
"All right?" he asked.  
  
She nodded and wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her chin in the crook of his neck. Legolas shifted uncomfortably, blushing again. This woman was making him very jittery, and he did not like it. The girl must have felt his unease, because she laughed softly.  
  
"Settling yourself for a more comfortable position, my lord?" she asked mockingly.  
  
Legolas muttered something incoherent and heeled his mount forward. The company followed like shadows, always on the alert. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Legolas asked the question that has been on his mind for a little while.  
  
"And may I ask what your name is, maiden?"  
  
For the first time, the girl hesitated before answering. He could feel her body tense against his, and her arms tightened a little.  
  
"My name…my name is Iyarras. Iyarras Goldenblade."  
  
"Iyarras," Legolas repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "A very pretty name, worthy of a very pretty woman."  
  
It was Sarryia's turn to blush, this time. She loosened her grip on the prince and leaned back a little, much to his disappointment. His body missed the warmth she had to offer. However, he did not have too long to think about it, as the palace soon came into view. Legolas nodded to the company behind him, and they proceeded to arrange themselves so that two of the five were in front of the prince and three behind. Sarryia laughed softly.  
  
"Afraid of being mugged, prince?"  
  
"It is merely a formality, Iyarras. Believe me, if I had my way, it would be just you and I."  
  
Sarryia thought over this comment for a moment, trying to decide exactly what it was supposed to mean. Trumpets broke through her thought, though, and concealed her head behind waves of messy black hair, gazing at the scene through cloudy gray eyes.  
  
A small crowd had begun to gather around the procession, gazing in awe at the prince, finally returned from what had doubtlessly been great and perilous adventures. Legolas was obviously used to this sort of thing, as he straightened himself up regally in his seat and gave smiles and nods of his head, as well as waves, causing the crowd to titter excitedly among themselves. At one point, however, he turned his head and whispered quietly to Sarryia,  
  
"I hate this, you know. If I need to smile one more false smile at these people, it'll fall off my face!"  
  
Sarryia giggled and whispered back,  
  
"If it does, I'll gladly try to put it back on …"  
  
Legolas blushed and turned back to the crowd. Sarryia also flushed red and mentally chided herself for having been so forward with this prince who hardly knew her. Eventually, they pushed their way through the now rather large crowd and reached the open doors of the palace. Legolas dismounted and handed his reins to an eagerly waiting stablehand, imitated by his attendants. He lifted Sarryia down as gently as a feather and set her on the ground. Signaling to a passing maid, he thrust her hands into the servant.  
  
"Find this lady the best rooms you can afford, please. She needs to wash up and find something to wear. Oh, and make sure she isn't seen. The lady does not wish for others to see her in a disheveled state," he said pompously.  
  
The lady nodded in understanding and led Sarryia away, kindly gesturing towards the way they should walk. Sarryia smiled gratefully at Legolas and followed her guide, eager to put on some fresh clothes. Legolas watched her go with a slight twinge of pain. He enjoyed her witty remarks and carefree attitude. And the way her body felt against his…Legolas gave a start and immediately left his daydreaming when Sihrniel tapped him on the shoulder. The male elf had a knowing look on his face and thrust some baggage into the prince's arms.  
  
"Here, lovebird," he said, laughing. "Even the great Prince of Mirkwood should carry his own materials."  
  
Legolas grinned and took the package. Perhaps he would be able to see the lady later that night. Until then, however, life should go on.  
  
***  
  
Sarryia peeled off her clothes in the beautiful tiled bathroom and waited for the maid to arrive with the soap. The steaming hot water in the copper bathtub looked awfully tempting, but Rethenduile – the maid – had insisted to scrub the layers of dirt and grime off Sarryia first. Presently, Rethenduile arrived with a bucket of hot water, soap, and what looked to Sarryia like a very rough sponge. The maid smiled and began washing off her new pensioner.  
  
"So," she said while scrubbing, "I see the prince has taken a special liking to you, o fair one."  
  
Sarryia blushed and lifted her arms.  
  
"Oh, I'm sure he hasn't," she said casually. "He probably treats all guests this way, right?"  
  
The short elf chuckled and tapped her cheek knowingly.  
  
"If he gave out the best room to all of his guests, do you think we would have many left? No, young one! He has a special spot for you, mark my words on it!"  
  
Sarryia smiled to herself and remained silent. It amused her that people often called her a "young one" when, chances were, she was probably older than them. Sarryia had always looked young, even for an elf. The only way a person could really tell how old she was was through her eyes, which radiated wisdom and compassion. Finally, Rethenduile seemed satisfied with Sarryia's cleanliness and told her to get into the bathtub. Sarryia did so willingly and let a sigh of pure pleasure escape her lips as she soaked her sore limbs in the warmth. Rethenduile smiled, obviously realizing that Sarryia was greatly enjoying this, and set about washing her pensioner's hair. Over the years, it had grown considerably in length and Sarryia, having no means to cut it with, had left it so. Rethenduile pulled out twigs and leaves and various other things from the midnight hair tenderly before soaking it with soap and water. Sarryia closed her eyes and smiled sleepily as the maidservant gently massaged her scalp.  
  
"That feels lovely, Rethenduile," she said in a slightly slurred speech.  
  
Rethenduile chuckled.  
  
"Yes, well we don't want you looking like a mess for a ball and a banquet, now do we?"  
  
Sarryia gave a start and splashed some water on the floor. Rethenduile kept her head down, however, with her strong hands, so she was unable to leap out of the bathtub – the way she would have liked to.  
  
"Ball? Banquet? Did the prince not inform you? I am not going! I am much too weary!"  
  
Rethenduile grinned knowingly, adding more soap into the tangle of hair.  
  
"You don't fool me, child. You are not weary at all – much too energetic, you know. No, I suspect there is an ulterior motive to your…reluctance. Perhaps something to do with our Prince of Mirkwood?"  
  
Sarryia said nothing. It had nothing to do with Legolas, of course – she was pretty sure it didn't, anyway. No, the real problem was in his father. Sarryia gave an involuntary shiver and gingerly touched the tender fleshy part of her side where the wound had been. He would never have forgotten her face. And Sarryia could not help but recall those icy words, even after so many long years. And if you ever come back…I'll kill you. No, she couldn't go. Not only for her own safety, but for Legolas' pride. She could not bear to shame him, particularly if his father went into one of his uncontrollable rages.  
  
"No," she said decisively. "I am sorry, Rethenduile, but I simply cannot go. There are…matters concerning myself that would make it unwise to show my face. I am sorry, truly I am."  
  
Rethenduile nodded slowly. Having been brought up around royalty, she guessed that there was likely some very ancient rivalry somewhere and refrained form mentioning it. But the elf was not dissuaded so easily.  
  
"I will mention it to the prince," she muttered.  
  
Sarryia had closed her eyes again and did not hear her. Rethenduile toweled off her hair and pointed to the pile of clean, fluffy towels on a chair.  
  
"When you are finished," she said, there will be clothes in the dresser in the next room. Pick something suitable, milady."  
  
Sarryia was about to comment on being called "milady" when she had only just arrived, but the elf had already trotted out the door.  
  
What an odd woman…she thought. Settling deeper into her bath, she slowly turned the events over in her head. It was absolutely unbelievable. After all these long years – what was it, two thousand? Three? – she had met, against all circumstances, the son of the very man that had caused her banishment in the first place. Well, she reasoned, she was not exactly banished – occasionally an out skirting village would take her in and feed her, so she did not lose her way with words – but she was not exactly a citizen, either. And now, against all odds, the prince himself had obviously taken some sort of a liking to her – Sarryia allowed herself a smug smile at this thought – and, what's more, offered to let her stay in the palace! She chewed her lip thoughtfully. It was going to be difficult to avoid Thranduil, but she knew she could never go back to the forest and her nomad life. Not only would it be difficult for her, she also had a nagging feeling that Legolas would not allow it.  
  
Legolas. She ran the name over several times in her mind. Backwards, forward. All around. Such a magical, lovely name. A wonderful, lovely name for a truly incredible person. She sighed. What was she talking about? She was at least several thousand years his elder, and not royalty besides. The only reason he had taken her in was out of pity for her. Sarryia kicked the bathwater irritably. Pity. She hated it. She had always felt she was strong enough to deal on her own, and pity forbade her that. And anyway, what was she talking about? Legolas? A magical, lovely name? She had met the man for all of a few hours!  
  
She sat sullenly for a minute or so, stewing in thoughts, when she realized the water was beginning to get cold and a little uncomfortable. She stepped out of the tub and headed for the towels, leaving a trail of water behind her. After rubbing off every scrap of moisture with the incredibly soft and fluffy towels, she made her way into the bedroom.  
  
It was a pretty room, not too gaudy but instead spacious and simple. The bed was made with pink satin sheets and the wood above it was intricately carved. The dark hardwood floor was covered with a white carpet roughly the same texture as the towels. A large window and a balcony overlooked the woods below, closed off by a light pink curtain. A dresser of pale wood was set in the corner of the room, opposite the doorway. Sarryia was about to open the dresser and pick out a dress to wear when she noticed something on the floor next to the door. Intrigued, she walked delicately up to it.  
  
Lying on the ground was a thin piece of cloth, obviously made of very fine silk. It was a soft blue color, the color of the sky before sunset. It was not very big, and was obviously made to wear around one's head. Attached was a note that read:  
  
Decided it would be best for the ball to be a masked one. After all, we do not want our guest to feel overpowered. I would be greatly delighted if you would join me at the banquet. I believe Rethenduile has provided you with the necessary clothing. Do say you'll come, I would be truly honored by your presence.  
  
Sincerely and Always of Service,  
  
1 Legolas  
  
Sarryia's heart skipped a beat. She picked up the scarf and wrapped I experimentally around her head before standing in front of a mirror. It was perfect. She opened the dresser and searched eagerly for a matching dress. Perhaps she would go to this banquet. After all, how could she refuse when the prince had so politely invited her?  
  
***  
  
A/N: R/R please! 


	3. The Banquet

***  
  
Lights twinkled in the forest around the palace, set up by the common folk as a manner of celebrating the prince's return. In the palace, people were bustling about like bees in a hive, worrying about what to wear, who to talk to, and what to say or do. Sarryia was not excluded in this practice, and presently she sat on the cushioned stool in front of her mirror with Rethenduile behind her, putting her hair into an elaborate bun.  
  
Sarryia grinned at her reflection in the mirror. She could not remember the last time she had dressed up so glamorously. He dress was a pale blue, roughly the same as the scarf, and shimmered almost unnoticeably until she stepped into light. The fabric was soft and silky and draped easily about her shoulders. She was a bit worried at first of the plunging neckline, but soon she hardly noticed it at all.  
  
Around her neck was the necklace she never took off – the one given to her by Ethreniel so long ago. To her ears, long dangling earrings of diamonds reached almost to her shoulders. Sarryia had a sneaking suspicion they were there just to make sure she kept her head up, but Rethenduile assured her they were merely for show. Her makeup was simple and hardly noticeable, though Sarryia noticed a special trick with it had caused her eyes to seem ten times larger. Still, it looked nice, she supposed.  
  
Now, Rethenduile was in the process of putting her hair up into a ridiculously elaborate style that, Sarryia was sure, had probably taken up half the palace's supply of hair clips. Finally, with one last sigh of satisfaction, Rethenduile put the finishing touches on the hairstyle. Sarryia looked at the mirror, pleased. It was gorgeous.  
  
"Oh, Rethenduile," she breathed. "You've outdone yourself!"  
  
Rethenduile grinned broadly at the compliment.  
  
"Milady will be the loveliest one tonight; I have made sure of that."  
  
Sarryia sighed in exasperation.  
  
"Rethenduile, please! I've told you a million times not to call me "milady"! For one thing, it's not my rightful title, and for another, it sounds ridiculous!"  
  
Rethenduile rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath, but Sarryia chose to ignore it. "Stubborn mule" indeed! She picked up the scarf and handed it to her maid. Looking up behind her, she grinned and shook the cloth around.  
  
"Please?"  
  
Rethenduile gave a snort and snatched it from her hand. Expertly, she draped it around her mouth first, then swept it up into her hair. A few seconds of skilled tying and sever mutters afterwards, the scarf had been secured in such a fashion that it seemed to blend naturally with her hair, hanging down to touch her bare back behind her earrings. The fabric was thin enough that you could still see her mouth through it, but the shimmering texture made it hard to identify the person using this. It was like wearing a mask of a face only slightly different than your own – perfect for the occasion.  
  
"Well, Rethenduile, I think I'm ready. What time is it?"  
  
At that precise moment, the rhythmic tolling of bells filled the thick summer air. Sarryia's eyes widened.  
  
"That's the seven o'clock bell! I'm already late to my first banquet!"  
  
Rethenduile laughed and shooed her out the door.  
  
"Go on now! No need to tarry any longer! You can still be the last but most beautiful one to enter!"  
  
Sarryia shot her friend a rueful smile and shot out the door. She ran down the hallway with her skirts hitched above her knee, praying not to trip or meet anyone while struggling to keep her head straight and her hair unruffled. It was quite a sight to see. She turned a corner and realized she had almost reached the large oak doors leading to the dining hall where the festivities were to take place. She skidded to an unladylike halt a few feet before the doors and found a somewhat secluded corner nearby where she could regain her breath.  
  
"Late, Lady Iyarras?" a voice said behind her.  
  
Sarryia jumped and spun around quickly. Leaning on the side of the wall, in his best silver tunic, was a grinning Legolas. Sarryia gave a sigh of relief that it was not someone that might have told her off.  
  
"I might ask you the same, Legolas," she said, smoothing out her dress.  
  
Legolas adopted a mock snobbish pose.  
  
"When you're royalty, you do whatever you please, O Ignorant One! You, on the other hand, have no excuse!"  
  
"I do too!" she protested. "I was just...er…getting some air. It's frightfully stuffy in there, you know."  
  
Legolas nodded and grinned.  
  
"Milady does have a point. Could I have the honor of escorting her?"  
  
Sarryia was puzzled. She fiddled with her veil, not sure where this conversation was going.  
  
"Escort me where?"  
  
"Why, outside, of course!" Legolas laughed. "You said you needed some air, and I am inclined to agree. Trust me, no one will miss us for a couple of minutes. And besides, it's much better to avoid those prying councilors, always trying to make polite conversation while plotting the next move behind your back." He extended his hand towards her, much the way he had on that fateful meeting. "Please, milady? I would be honored."  
  
Sarryia smiled and took his hand.  
  
"Only if you stop calling me 'milady,' Legolas, or I shall start calling you "Your Highness."  
  
Legolas grimaced and nodded.  
  
"All right! No more milady, Iyarras. I shall simply call you by your name, as long as you stick to mine. Will that do?"  
  
"Of course, Legs."  
  
Legolas scowled but said nothing. He led her by small passages and stairways sure to be unfrequented, out large doors onto a balcony. Immediately, Sarryia realized that her statement had been correct. Here, her face was cooled by a breeze that carried the heavy fragrance of night flowers on it. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the stars appeared to be brighter than ever before. She walked forward a bit and placed her hands on the stone ledge, still slightly warm from the day's sun.  
  
"Oh, Legolas," she murmured, "it's lovely."  
  
"You know," he said, still keeping the mood light, "it is not absolutely necessary for you to keep that thing on when we are not in the company of others."  
  
Sarryia blushed and pulled the veil down a bit so that it around her neck. She inhaled the night air deeply, relishing the moment.  
  
"So," Legolas said casually, leaning on the balcony beside her, "where exactly did you come from? It was quite a surprise to find you in such a state in the woods, I can assure you."  
  
"It's…a long story. I will tell it to you later, perhaps. I do not like recalling it."  
  
Legolas nodded understandingly and scooted fractionally closer. Or maybe that was just Sarryia's imagination. She felt a thin trickle of sweat run down her back. Get a hold of yourself! She thought furiously. You are acting like a child! She listened for a moment to the music drifting out of the palace, waiting for Legolas to say something. Instead of doing so, however, he turned his head towards her and simply looked. Looked, with those deep, brown, endless eyes that Sarryia felt went on forever. She rested her elbow and turned her head towards him, fixing him with her own powerful gaze.  
  
They stood there, stock-still, with the music floating around them on the heavy air, learning things even the other did not know. Neither moved a muscle. Sarryia wondered what was going on behind those eyes. She desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, but still made no move. She fixed her foggy gray eyes on his and tried to decipher the mystery of a man across from her.  
  
Suddenly, Legolas' arm moved. Sarryia followed it with her eyes. It snaked around her waist, and he took her hand in his own.  
  
"Would you like to dance?" he said quietly.  
  
Sarryia nodded dumbly, caught totally off-guard. Awkwardly, she tried to remember dance steps she had learned so long ago. Legolas stepped slowly, obviously realizing she had not done this in a long time. She caught on quickly, however, and soon she matched each of his steps easily with her own.  
  
They still said nothing, instead merely enjoying the calm sense of security and warmth felt when dancing with someone you know and trust. Sarryia smiled shyly, suddenly feeling as though she was meeting this man for the very first time. Legolas smiled back at her and danced a little faster as the faint music sped up. Sarryia kept up easily and followed his every step effortlessly.  
  
All too early, the music ended. Sarryia took her hand out of Legolas' a bit reluctantly, mentally willing his arm to stay around her waist. She stepped back and curtsied, as was customary, and he bowed. She smiled a bit more broadly.  
  
"Well, Legolas, that was very – "  
  
She could not say any more. Legolas had leaned over and, soft as a butterfly's fluttering wings, placed his lips on hers. It was so light Sarryia wondered if there had been anything at all. At soon as it had begun, though, it ended. Legolas leaned back and smiled.  
  
"Good night, lady. I hope you have a fair evening."  
  
He bowed once more and vanished into the palace. Sarryia stood alone, dumbstruck and unsure she would be able to find her way back to the banquet. She touched her lips slowly. What had happened?  
  
***  
  
Legolas strode energetically down the hall, a thousand thoughts roiling in his mind. He ran a nervous hand through his hair and replayed the events in his mind. He wondered if his nervousness had shown. He wiped his palms on his tunic and tried to remember what had possessed him to ask her to dance, of all things! Still, he reasoned, it was a somewhat logical thing to do…if you were mentally ill.  
  
Sighing in frustration, he hoped Iyarras had not noticed the initial stiffness in his dancing. Legolas allowed himself a small smile. That had soon worn off, though, when he began to really move with the music and with his partner. Never had he felt so close to someone when dancing. After all, it was generally only out of politeness that he danced with many of the ladies.  
  
And then the kiss – he did not even want to think about it anymore. He did not know what was happening to him, but he didn't like it one bit. Still, he felt comfortable around Iyarras, and never obliged to be false or pretend to be interesting just for the sake of keeping a friendship between kingdoms. There were few people Legolas could be himself around, and Iyarras was one of them.  
  
Legolas had reached the doors to the room in which the banquet was being held. Taking a deep breath, he straightened out his tunic and opened the heavy door. Inside, the room was bustling with activity, and snatches of conversations could be caught here and there. The center of the room was a tiled floor on which a number of couples were dancing to soft music played by musicians by one of the walls in the cavernous room. Opposite these, an immensely long table had been laid out, with countless places set for the many guests in attendance. The table formed an "L" shape, going around to the other wall.  
  
Legolas was relieved to see that no one had noticed him enter – that meant no one had seen him leave, probably. He spotted his father and casually strolled over to make acquaintance with the people Thranduil was talking to.  
  
"Ah!" Thranduil exclaimed, spotting Legolas. "My son has finally decided to join the festivities!"  
  
"I do not seem to have been sorely missed by you, in any case," Legolas said wryly, a smile on his face. "And who, pray tell, are these lovely people here?"  
  
He bowed politely to the elven woman and what he assumed to be her husband. They smiled in what seemed to be an approving way and nodded back.  
  
"This," Thranduil said, "is Eyfella and her husband Guilorn, from the woods of Lorien. They will be staying for a little while here in the palace."  
  
The male elf smiled winningly and extended a hand.  
  
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty. I have heard nothing but good from your father, I assure you," he said with a laugh.  
  
Legolas forced a smile and shook his hand. He did not like these people very much. They seemed very…fake to him. He bowed again and addressed the four elves.  
  
"Well, I must be going. Mustn't keep the guests waiting, you know."  
  
Thranduil dismissed him with a wave of his hand and engaged into another conversation with Guilorn and his wife. Legolas rolled his eyes and strolled on the edge of the dance floor, nodding here, exchanging a word or two there, and generally being what he had always been trained to be – a perfect host. Presently, a pretty golden-haired elf approached him, extending her hand.  
  
"Prince Legolas?" She asked in a somewhat mocking way. Legolas grinned and took her hand. She laughed. "May I have this dance, sire?"  
  
Legolas smiled and placed his hand on her hip.  
  
"But of course, lady! You know I could never refuse you, Jisela."  
  
"Oh, shut up, you big liar. You're only dancing with me because you have to!"  
  
Legolas put on a mock hurt face.  
  
"Preposterous! You're the most beautiful one of the ball!"  
  
"Oh," she said slyly, "now I know you're lying. I thought that title was reserved for a certain maiden over there." She threw her head to one side, indicating a person to the left of Legolas. "A person named Iyarras, maybe?"  
  
She flashed him a bright white smile and squeezed his hand slightly. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear,  
  
"Go dance with the prettiest maiden here, Legolas. Go one. I won't feel offended."  
  
Legolas was surprised and extremely embarrassed, but he recovered quickly. However, he knew there would be no fooling Jisela. Instead, he simply asked her straight out what was bothering him.  
  
"After this dance, perhaps I will. But how did you know?"  
  
Jisela laughed musically and winked knowingly.  
  
"Women's intuition. Don't think I did not see you leave the room, Legolas. And, lo and behold, she entered only a few minutes after you came back." She pretended to be pensive. "Hmm, now what could that be about?"  
  
Legolas fought to retain his dignity, although he fully realized it was well beyond his reach at this point.  
  
"It was nothing like that!" he said, blushing from ear to ear. "I just…talked to her outside and – "  
  
He was interrupted by Jisela's laugh. Gritting his teeth, he set his jaw stubbornly and refused to say anything more. Jisela grinned roguishly at him.  
  
"Say no more, my dear prince, say no more! In fact, you won't have to. The song is over. Run along now, go and find a partner worthy of you!"  
  
Legolas bowed quickly, and trotted off to where she had indicated Iyarras was. He spotted her immediately. Her mysterious gray eyes were fixed on him, and she had a smile playing on her lips through the veil. The smile, Legolas thought, seemed the tiniest bit forced. He had seen an incalculable amount of fake smiles, so he knew what they looked like by now. But it could be the veil was simply confusing him. He bowed and lifted his head.  
  
"Would mila…would you like to dance, Iyarras?"  
  
Sarryia pretended to think, making a great show of tapping her finger on her bottom lip. Finally she gave what appeared to be a resigned sigh and threw her hands up expressively in the air.  
  
"Well, I suppose no one can refuse the prince!"  
  
Legolas grinned and led her to the center of the dance floor. He looped his arm around her waist once more, feeling that tingle down his spine. He let her hand rest in his and began leading her around the floor. This time, he decided, conversation was necessary.  
  
"Are you enjoying yourself tonight?"  
  
"Well, I just arrived not too long ago, so I haven't had much of a chance to talk or dance with anyone…and besides, to tell you the truth, I'm a bit intimidated."  
  
"You shouldn't be. All of these people, their bark is worse than their bite. And of course there are always the people who are – wonder of wonders – normal!"  
  
"Oh, really? Could you point some out, because most of them seem to have swallowed a pole!"  
  
"Well, for one there's that girl I was dancing with – did you see her?"  
  
"Yes…Yes, I did."  
  
"Her name's Jisela and she seems a bit frigid at first, but she's just reserved. Very nice, too. Been my friend since childhood."  
  
Legolas noticed Iyarras' face suddenly brightened up.  
  
"Your friend since childhood? Of course! I knew there was a perfectly logical…What I mean is, she seems like a very nice girl."  
  
Legolas looked at her oddly, and she blushed. They danced the rest of the song away quietly, excepting the occasional wisecrack whispered in each other's ears about the others dancing and their stuck-up nature. Both were obviously reluctant to leave when the dance had ended, but Legolas was soon whisked off by an eager female and Sarryia found herself someone she did not know to dance with her.  
  
A good while later, a bell was ring, indicating the guests should find seats, as the meal was soon to be served. Legolas, of course, sat on Thranduil's right side, the latter of which had placed himself directly in the middle of one of the tables. Sitting on his left side were Eyfella and Guilorn, looking somewhat smug about something. Legolas found it rather unnerving. At the other table, diagonal from Legolas, Sarryia had found a seat between the elf she had danced with and Jisela, whom she had obviously taken a liking to. The two were talking animatedly together, laughing at some unknown jokes.  
  
Thranduil hit his knife against his crystal glass several times. When the room had quieted down, he cleared his throat and began talking.  
  
"Ahem. Thank you. Elves, friends from afar, I would like to begin by thanking you all for coming. Your presence graces these palace grounds like none other before them." He paused for a minute to let the elves clap their hands politely before raising his hand and calling for order. "But I have a very important announcement to make! It is my utmost pleasure and privilege to inform you all of a great even that has just recently taken place! My son – Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, has been engaged to a lovely young woman, Fiolie, daughter of Eyfella and Guilorn Silverstar!"  
  
The announcement was greeted with roars of approvements from the normally placid elves. They clapped loudly and a few of the younger ones even cheere a bit. Legolas was stunned. He sat frozen to his seat, unable to let the facts sink into his head. Thranduil held up his hand once more.  
  
"And now," he announced, "without further delay, we feast!"  
  
The elves were served with delicacies from Mirkwood and began chatting animatedly among themselves. Legolas could not touch his food. He could not believe it. An arranged marriage! To a person he did not even know, nonetheless! He stole a glance to Sarryia across the room, expecting her to share in his outrage.  
  
The seat between the handsome male elf and Jisela was empty. 


	4. Revelations

A/N: aight, a bit of explanation….i went off this story for a bit because….i wrote a couple chapters (posted a couple, actually) and I just didn't like where it was going and….sort of stopped writing it. But now I feel the urge to write some fanfiction, and I think I have enough fluff for now…..*smiles* so I'm picking up here, because I'd like to change the story a bit. Sorry for any inconveniences and many thanks to all my reviewers, however small their numbers may be!!!

***

It was not his fault. It was not his fault. It was not his fault. Fat, pearly tears rolled down Sarryia's cheeks as she repeated the phrase over and over again in her mind. Her veil had been ripped off carelessly, her jewelry abandoned, her skirts tattered and her feet bare. She collapsed on the ground outside the palace, near the woods.  Ragged sobs tore through her throat now, and her hands clutched unsteadily at the tree. She pressed her face against it, feeling the coolness of the bark, feeling the power surging through it. It could not be true. But it was. It was not his fault, it was not his fault. Softly, she muttered to herself between tears.

"It is not his fault. It is mine. I am a foolish idiot, a disgrace. I do not deserve to be an elf. I do not deserve Legolas. I do not deserve life." At her last statement, a fresh round of tears burst through and she gripped the bark of the tree as though it was the only thing holding her up. She continued miserably, knowing it was self-pity but not able to stop. "I do not deserve life! I am a pathetic being who believes she knows love and is devastated when she realizes it cannot be! My whole life I have been a failure. I do not deserve to live. I do not deserve to live."

She repeated it to herself until her voice died down, taking her tears with it. Exhaustion took over. Her eyes closed slowly, and she slid down to the ground. Her breathing slowed, her hands unclenched, and she slid into a trouble sleep. 

***

Legolas quickly pulled out his chair and stood up, alarmed. A few elves looked at him quizzically, but the music had begun playing again and those not dancing were in deep conversation. Legolas eased his way towards the doors, studiously avoiding the eyes of any maiden. He needed to find Iyarras and - and what? The doors opened easily, and he slipped into the hallway. What was he going to do if he didn't not even understand his own emotions. He sagged tiredly against the wall. A part of him was saying this was madness; that he should step right back in and forget about the person he had known for a bare handful of days. Another part of him, though, a stronger, bigger part, told him that that same step back into the banquet hall would rip his heart apart. He needed to find her. He needed….he did not know what else he needed, but that would do for now. 

Straightening, he trotted quickly through the halls. Even at this hour, there were servants lining the halls, dusting things and scurrying here and there with sheets piled high upon their arms. Legolas grabbed one of them by the arm. And older elf, he could tell by the faint lines around her face, but still awed by him. Her eyes were wide and disbelieveing at the sight of the prince himself. Legolas scowled. Awe would not get him any answers, but perhaps it was worth a try.

"Did you see a lady? A very beaut- a very pretty elf? Running through the halls?" The woman managed a hasty nod, and he gripped her arm harder. "Where? Speak, woman! Quickly!"

"That way," she said, strangled, pointing unsteadily towards one of the doors leading outside.

Legolas immediately let go of her arm and ran towards them. He gripped the large bronze handles and pulled back, opening them easily. As he ran outside, he heard it close with a dull thud. 

The moon shone strongly, and stars speckled the heavens, creating more than adequate light for Legolas' sharp eyes. Cicadas and crickets chirruped madly at him, and an occasional night bird was heard in the distance. The darkness, however lightened it might be, was oppressive. Legolas quickly scanned the gardens, and the woods beyond. There. A shimmering on the ground next to a tree, the color of Iyarras' dress. It suddenly occurred to Legolas she might be hurt. Frightened and praying this was not the case, he broke into a run.

It was indeed Iyarras. She was sleeping, her lips parted and her makeup streaked on her face from tears. The sight broke Legolas's heart in half. _What sort of a monster am I, _he thought bitterly, _that I bring this sort of pain unto people?_ Gently, he scooped her up into his arms. Her eyes fluttered open from a light sleep. She looked at his face and blinked several times. Her lower lip quivered, and she squeezed her eyes shut before opening them again, wider. 

"No…." she whispered. Tears began running down her face again. She writhed and tried to get out of his arms, shaking her head. "No. No, go away Legolas! I don't deserve you. I don't deserve you, I don't deserve anyone. I don't- I don't- " Her protests were lost in her weeps, and her figure went limp, finally realizing it was useless battling against him. Legolas shook his head, puzzled.

"Of course you - of course you deserve me." He held her tighter. "If anything, I do not deserve you, Iyarras."

Iyarras looked at him for a long moment, contemplating. Finally, she shook her head weakly and licked her upper lip. Legolas decided she looked decidedly pale. Sweat mixed with her tears now, making her face glisten in the moonlight. Her eyes seemed too big for her face.

"Sarryia," she said faintly. "My name…is Sarryia."

And with that, her head lolled back and she fell unconscious in his arms.

***

Sarryia blinked uncertainly. She could make out faint fuzzy shapes around her, but no more. The room had a warm, homely feeling. She blinked again. Drapes, and a large window. Another blink. And there was her dresser! She cracked her jaw yawning, and blinked again. The smile that had begun to form on her face faded away. And there was Legolas, sitting on the edge of her large bed and looking grim.

"So you awake at last," he said to her.

"She let her head fall back onto the pillow and groaned. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with wool and pounded with hammers. Recent memories were as fuzzy as the room had been when she had first opened her eyes.

"How long - " she yawned again - "how long was I asleep?"

Legolas stood up and paced several steps at the end of her bed. He did not appear to have heard her. Every now and then, he would shake his head as though arguing with himself, stop, and then begin walking again, muttering to himself the whole time. Sarryia thought she saw lines on his face she did not remember. He seemed…pained, somehow. Her heart went out to him. She wanted to touch him, to hold, to tell him everything was all right. Her cheeks heated at the thought, but it would not go away. Finally he stopped and faced her, his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands behind his back. Sarryia noticed uncomfortably how considerably larger than her he was; his face was a thundercloud.

"Two days, you slept. I do not know why, but that is the fact. Do you remember?" Not giving her time to answer, or even ask exactly what he was talking about, he plowed on with his speech. "No matter. You ran out, after my - after my arranged marriage was announced." He practically spat those words out, putting as much anger and contempt into them as he possibly could. "I was worried, so I went after you. I found you crying beneath a tree." Sarryia suddenly felt as though she would faint again. She remembered exactly what happened, now. But Legolas had not stopped yet. "You were delusional, I think, though I do not know why. I thought I did, but…I do not know. I - I picked you up to carry you back to the palace . . . and you told me your name was Sarryia. Not Iyarras, as you had me believe."

Sarryia clamped her mouth shut and stubbornly kept tears from flowing. As if she had not cried enough! Legolas peered closely at her face, then nodded, as though her refusal to speak had confirmed the truth. It was obvious he was not finished.

"So. It is true. Well, I told Thranduil about it, of course. I could hardly do otherwise. I think you would find his reaction…most peculiar." Sarryia's breath caught, and all thought of sorrow were abandoned for ones of stark terror. Thranduil knew. Would years have dimmed the grief for his wife? Or would he still be blinded by rage and quick temper - would he still want to avenge her death? Sarryia held her breath and locked her eyes onto Legolas', willing him to go on. Either he did not notice or he did not care, because he gave absolutely no reaction to her gaze.

"Well, he was surprised, as you can well imagine. He stopped and thought for a long moment, and then told me this; I don't know if you can make any sense of it, because I couldn't: 'What's past is past. Years have cleared my mind, and the hot blood is no longer in my veins. All is forgiven. I have seen the error of my ways.' And then he looked at me and told me to tell you that. I don't understand what it means."

Legolas paused uncomfortably at that moment, watching Sarryia's reaction. He hoped she did not realize the part he had left out. It was still as fresh in his mind as I had been when his father spoke the words.

*

"So, Legolas," Thranduil said peremptorily, leaning back in his chair. He looked at his son over steepled fingers, the merest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "This…Sarryia girl?"

_"Yes, father?" Legolas said cautiously. This was a dangerous subject to tread on._

_"Let's get straight to the point here, Legolas. I am in great disfavor of arranged marriages. Really, I am. When I married your mother, it was for love and love only. But sometimes, son, it's necessary for the good of the kingdom. And we, as rulers - future rulers, in your case - have that responsibility above all. You may not love Fiola - you may not even like her - but you must know that it is essential that you marry her in order to keep all relations within Mirkwood on good terms. Legolas, you must forget Sarryia."_

_It was all Legolas could do not to collapse down into the chair behind him. He was not sure if it was from shock that his father would imply such a thing, or . . . or from the realization that he would have to leave Sarryia. The second thought cut him right down to the soul. He had never before truly understood the weight that an arranged marriage bore until that moment. For whatever reason, he could not imagine life without her. There must be another way . . ._

_"Yes, father," he said numbly._

_"Good. I trust you will be able to." An emotion fluttered across Thranduil's face - could it be sympathy? - but was gone as soon as it appeared. "You may go bid her farewell, if you wish. I think it would be best to send her to Rivendell, or Lothlorien perhaps. Away from here, and away from you. You may go now." _

_Legolas bowed his way out stiffly and barely kept himself from slamming the heavy oak door._

*

Which was how he found himself in front of Iyarras - no, Sarryia. He would have to remember that, now - asking her to explain so that perhaps he would not feel quite so bad about putting her out. So far, however, the sight of her had only made him love her more. Right now she looked rather frightened, though, and she chewed her lip as though trying to pick out the best words.

"I know what it means," she said finally. Legolas waited for more, but it seemed that was all she was willing to say. She closed her mouth and moved her lips silently. If Legolas had now known better, he would have said she was whispering thanks. 

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. A clean break was best, his father always said. It applied here as well as anywhere.

"Sarryia, you . . . you have to go." She narrowed his eyes at him, obviously not understanding. Legolas was quite proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake. His hands, though, were another matter. "I'm afraid you are cumbersome to my marriage. In a week, I would be most appreciative if you had left Mirkwood's grounds." Her eyes were now as wide as they would go, and thoroughly disbelieving. Legolas hoped the reason they were shining so was because of the light. He plowed on roughly. "You will be provided with money, and necessary supplies, but . . . you must leave. I am sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, and so unexpectedly." He bowed smoothly. "By your leave, lady."

Legolas spun quickly on his heel and all but ran out the door, leaving a shocked Sarryia behind him.

***

Sarryia worked her mouth, but no words came out. Not that it mattered, anyway; Legolas had already left. She felt. . . empty. As though she had cried all of her tears and had no more. Leaving. Forever, probably.  A lifetime without Legolas. Legolas, the only person she had ever loved, the only person she had ever truly cared for. How bitter it was. First chased away by father, then by son. What was an elf to do? 

She sat up a little. Whatever happened, she would not take it lying down. Legolas was meant to be hers, she was sure of it. He was meant to be hers, and a he _would _be hers. Whatever the price. Whatever the cost. There must be a way. Already in her mind, plans were forming.

***

A/N: Yay! End of the fourth chapter and I actually LIKE where this is going! *beams*  Please r/r!! I'd be muchos appreciative!


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